Gotham Inn
by somekindafreaky
Summary: AU RobinStarfire. In 18th century Devon an innocent country girl finds herself embroiled in a murderous plot. On the wild, rough moors she finds friends and even love. But who is that mysterious highwayman?
1. Prologue: the Highwayman

No, I have not given up on my other stories! This one was just begging to be written. It's based in part on the books Jamaica Inn, by Daphne du Maurier, and Flambards, by K M Peyton. But you definitely don't need to have read either to enjoy it (I hope).

I also made the Titans English, because I have no idea what America was actually like several hundred years ago _(is ashamed)_. And also because Devon is the perfect setting for a creepy yet romantic story. Those wild, mysterious moors and marshes… very Hound of the Baskervilles-esque or Wuthering Heights-ish. I hope y'all agree :)

This story is mainly Robin/Starfire, but the other Titans do appear and Red-X plays a principal role. Enjoy!

**1**

It was a night in late October, but there was no autumn on the moors; they had skipped straight to winter, and a harsh, chilling one at that. Devon was feeling the full effects of the storms blown in from the English Channel. The grey-black countryside stretched away endlessly in every direction, eventually merging seamlessly into the inky sky. All was darkness, wreathed in swirling ribbons of mist. There were no stars in the sky tonight.

Starfire pulled her dark purple travelling cloak more tightly around her, huddling as deep into the corner of the coach as possible. She was the only passenger left now; the rest had all departed at the last villages. Everything seemed very lonely in the empty carriage, the walls thin and useless against the wilderness outside. She listened fearfully to the wind howling, hungry and lonely as a wolf. The whole stagecoach creaked and lurched against the gale and the torrents of rain.

She felt for the driver and the horses most of all – they, who were out there amongst the elements with no walls or roof or leather seats. She herself was not courageous enough to lean out the window into the cold air and call to them with some lame attempt at comfort. The driver, bundled in his greatcoat up to his eyes, hunched in his seat. The horses plodding, pulling, straining through the dreadful night. And all for her, because it was their job. They would have stopped at the last town had it not been for her sole need to come out here, to brave the weather and unforgiving terrain. They had warned her she should not face the moors tonight; advised her to stop for the night at an inn and carry on in the morning. But she had been adamant, and foolishly stubborn, it seemed in retrospect. She had promised she would be at Gotham Inn tonight, and she didn't know how understanding her new employers would be if she were late.

Pulling her long legs up underneath her and closing her eyes, she wished again that she was back in her lovely, safe little cottage back down by the sea. It might be raining there, but her mother would be boiling a huge pot of tea and there would be a fire burning in the hearth. Her parents, her brother and sister would be warming themselves around it cosily. And she was here, out in this nowhere-land, cold, stiff, tired, and from what she could see, very little to look forward to.

Her family had not always been poor. Once, according to her father, they had been nobility, royalty even, of some far off land. He would not explain how they had come to be in England, making just enough to live on and no more by way of their chickens and one goat. She saw no point in asking. It was all the past.

Her brother Ryan would take the farm when he was older. She didn't exactly envy him that. Her sister, affectionately dubbed Blackfire for her hair and eyes, would no doubt come into a fortune somehow, be it through stealing, cheating or fortunate marriage. The three were the same to Starfire. But Blackfire would succeed; she was one of those people who always did. Starfire herself was demure, less ruthless. She preferred to take things a day at a time rather than looking too far ahead. It had always been supposed she should become some lady's maid, she was pretty and well-mannered enough for sure. If she were lucky, she might one day be a governess.

Had she lost those chances now? Would she never have them again? It didn't seem likely, as she sat curled up in this rattling old stage coach in the middle of this barbaric country.

She hadn't had much option in accepting this offer. She was smart enough to see a good opportunity when it came her way, even if it wasn't what she would have liked. 'Barmaid' had not been high on her list of good potential jobs. Where she came from, barmaids were talked about mockingly; they had reputations even if they hadn't earned them. But the pay was good, and they would give her room and board at this Gotham Inn. That had been more than enough for her father, who frankly did not have much depth to him, but as for her mother…

"_How_ can you think of sending our youngest girl out to some god-forsaken place you've never seen? It might be a sin-hole, anything might happen to her out there, and you'd just let her go?" she had demanded when the letter had come. Mr and Mrs Anders had sent the children out of the main room, but the walls of their humble home were not exactly sound-proof.

"Galfore knows the fellow doesn't he? Can you imagine Galfore setting little Star up like that? He loves the child like his own." This in itself was true. Galfore – the family's long-time friend and occasional benefactor – had found the placement through some connection of his and suggested Starfire for the job. "It must be a good place if he bypassed the eldest and chose his favourite." This was a good point also. Or maybe he had known that Blackfire simply would have refused, whereas Starfire wouldn't dream of turning up an offer that could help her family.

"But there isn't even a mistress of the house! It's just that man, and his **young son**, and probably not a woman for miles. What will people think? It'll be a scandal, and it's certainly not safe for a young girl of sixteen."

"I think it was his ward, not his son. But anyway, maybe that's what Galfore had in mind? Putting her in the way of a good marriage? Give the old man some credit."

When Starfire had heard this from their hiding place outside the door, she had turned weak at the knees. Ryan had looked at her concernedly, and Blackfire had almost doubled over laughing. Even as she thought of it now, trundling along and almost at her destination, it cast over her uneasiness. She would have been so much happier had there been a girl there, particularly her age, or at least a motherly figure. Rural life, with its crudeness and all those stories of young people 'rolling around in haystacks', had taught her to be wary of men. And from what she had peeped of this place through the coach window, there was about a house every ten miles. If something were to happen to her… but no, she shouldn't think like that.

Suddenly, she was aware of the coach drawing to a halt, and sat up, frowning. She was sure the driver had told her it would be at least four hours since they passed the last village, and it couldn't have been more than three. Had she fallen asleep?

Inching uncertainly over to the window, she pulled down the sash so that she could lean out. The ice-cold raindrops slapped her in the face, and her long red hair was immediately whipped up into a fury. Squinting against the stinging cold, she peered through the darkness.

"Hello? Please, are we there?" she shouted at the top of her voice, but her words were soon lost in the night. She thought she heard someone yell back, urgently perhaps – and then another voice. What was going on?

A dark shape – darker even than the surrounding blackness that she had believed was as dark as dark could be – loomed up in front of her faster than she could think. On instinct, she hastily withdrew into the confines of the coach, but not for long, as the door was wrenched open.

All of a sudden there was a light, as someone drew a match and lit a lantern. It bobbed over the head of a man, on a great black horse, that stood outside of the carriage. Starfire stared at him, in a state of surprise where she didn't really know what she was feeling. As he held the lantern up to his eyes, presumably to get a better look of her, she too could make out his face – except she couldn't, because it was completely covered by a black mask, with only slits for eyes and a strange 'X' shape painted across it. He also wore a black tri-cornered hat on top of it, a riding coat, breeches and knee-high boots. All in black, like his steed, tack, and the long cape that was drawn tightly around him. And the pistol, that was pointed at her.

She gasped, rigid suddenly in her seat. Though she couldn't see his face, she was sure he must be grinning. She heard it in his voice when he said, "Well hello there, cutie. What have we here?"

"What do you want?" she forced out, surprised at how level her voice sounded.

"Oh, a great many things." His voice was peculiar and raspy, like he had a throat problem. It didn't sound real, and she decided he must be putting it on. "But for now, I just hope you're rich, because I'm about to rob you of everything you got."

She blinked uselessly. Where was her driver? Was he okay? What was she meant to do? She hadn't been out in this weird, wild countryside for more than a day and already she was in trouble. The people here must be crazy.

Before she could decide on any course of action, he had leant in through the door, grabbed her wrist and dragged her out. She was flung unceremoniously onto the hard, frozen ground, an uncomfortable mixture of grass, heather, rock and dirt. He regarded her briefly from his horse's back, before reaching up to the top of the coach and pulling down her modest little suitcase.

"There's probably not much in there," he shrugged, hooking it onto the back of his saddle. "But thanks all the same. Now I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to take off your clothes."

"_What?_" She had been raised right. She had to draw the line somewhere.

"Just to see if you're hiding anything. But I guess you're right, it's cold out tonight, and I'm not that much of a monster. Tell you what, I'll go easy on you, 'cause I like you."

"I cannot say the same for you," she spat, her teeth already chattering. With as much dignity as she could muster, which wasn't much as she was splattered head-to-toe in mud and being constantly buffeted about by the wind, she got to her feet. He walked his horse over to her, and, only because she had few other choices, she leant against its dark flank. It was delightfully warm and steady, but as soon as she regained balance she drew away, stumbling backwards.

"Very sorry milady, but your driver seems to be unconscious. Can I give you a lift anywhere?" he tipped his hat to her mockingly.

"I would not accept a thing from you," she felt tears come to her eyes and viciously fought them down. "Get away. You are a vile criminal."

"True," he shrugged, and didn't sound remotely troubled by the revelation. "Well, you'll be seeing me again. I'll make sure of it, cutie." And with a flurry of cape and black tail-hair, he was gone. The thunder of hooves died away in merely a few seconds, swallowed up by the night.

Starfire stood there for a moment longer, staring into the space where he had vanished to in disbelief. However, the bite of cold as a particularly cruel gust of wind blew over her brought her out of her trance. Gathering up her sodden cloak and skirts, she staggered over to the coach, gripping one of the horse's harnesses for support. Ignoring the frightful weather for the minute, she scrambled up next to the driver and felt for signs of life anxiously. She soon located his face and felt the pinprick of breath on her fingers, confirming that he wasn't dead and indeed only unconscious. It must have been a blow to the head.

"Please, please wake up," she murmured, shaking him to and fro, not sure whether to be violent or gentle about it. She hated how pathetic she sounded. But it worked, and soon he was roused.

"Wha – you…" he mumbled.

"Sir! There was a highwayman… you are hurt, please, come inside the carriage and rest." She stood up in her seat and made to help him down, but suddenly she once again found herself flat on her face on the hard ground. He had pushed her away in a panic.

"Hell no! I'm goin' home!" he slurred.

"No! Please!" she tried to get up, but her boot, with its damnable high heel, slipped in the mud and she slid onto her side. "You are not well…"

But he had raised the whip, appearing almost drunk, and cracked it above the already frightened horses' heads. They didn't need telling twice.

"Wait! Do not leave me!" she wailed uselessly after him. But it was all she could do to fling herself out of the way of the coach wheels as they bounced past her. Now she really was alone, in the middle of some strange moors, in the middle of the night, in a storm, with no possessions or idea where she was. There was no stopping the tears now.

She felt frustrated beyond belief. Maybe it hadn't been her fault that their coach had been held up, but there must have been some way she could have handled that situation better. Not to have let herself been tossed aside twice, for one thing. And robbed, and then left behind. She knew she was brave, and smart, and strong for her age, build and sex; but she was a simple country girl. She had never been taught what to do in such a situation. It seemed out here, she would have to learn by herself.

So there she was, a sorry sight indeed, a soaking wet mess of a girl balled up in the middle of the road. With a titanic effort, she got herself up. She needed to find somewhere – anyway, an empty shed would do for now, though preferably somewhere with people who would help her – and then she could go about finding Gotham Inn.

What a fine first impression she would make, stumbling through the inn doors like this. She had put on her Sunday clothes this morning, washed her hair thoroughly last night, hoping to come across well when her new employers first set eyes on her. She had her white off-the-shoulder blouse, with the pale pink corseted waistcoat, and the dark green skirt (cut a daring several inches above her ankles) embroidered with pink flowers at the hem, and her old pair of black drawstring boots had been polished until they might have been new.

Fat lot of good that had all done her.

She wandered down the road – if you could call it that, for it was more of a dirt track – for what could have been an hour or twenty minutes. By the time she was alerted to the sound of hoof-beats on the ground, and the distinct shape of a horse drew up in front of her, she was numb to the bone and too exhausted to even care if it was another highwayman.

But this was no highwayman – he held the lantern up to his face and said, his voice young and incredulous, "Kory Anders?"

She looked up through her tired, bleary eyes. The rain and her fatigue distorted her vision, and for a very brief minute she thought that this _was_ the very same man who had held up her stage coach earlier that night. But it couldn't have been. He was maskless – his face was clean, and handsome, and above all, friendly. The latter was all she needed. She took three uneven steps forward before collapsing against the side of his shocked grey horse.

"God, are you alright?" his face, and other faces, swam in front of her eyes. But his own eyes – blue and piercing – remained steady and focused.

"I am fine," she managed to say, and it was so blatantly untrue it was almost funny.

The relief she felt at being hoisted up into his arms was unimaginable. They were so warm, and strong, and seemed so safe. It was a joy to be able to give herself up completely to his apparently very capable hands. He balanced her on the saddle in front of him, one arm firmly round her waist, the other steering the horse.

As they made slow but steady progress, the screeching wind and biting rain and ugly barren moors seemed to vanish in Starfire's mind. All that was there was the gentle rhythm of the horse's walk, the feel of the man's arm around her and his front against her back. She lolled back against him gratefully, and just before she succumbed to sleep, heard him whisper in her ear, "I'm Robin, by the way."


	2. Meeting the Family

I give you fair warning now that this story will be riddled with historical inaccuracies. I'm too lazy to research extensively, but hopefully most of you won't notice/mind. And they'll talk in a fairly modern way, because once again, I'm too lazy to write it any differently. …Heh. (Review responses at the end of the chapter!)

**2**

Starfire awoke to the delicious smell of bacon cooking, and she was smiling, sitting up and leaning in the direction of the aroma even before her eyes had opened.

"Well, good morning sunshine," said a voice, familiar and wonderful to the ears. She had no idea who it was, though.

She peered through her eyelashes, reluctant to open her eyes fully to the light that suddenly seemed painfully bright, though this was just in comparison to the darkness that was all she had known for hours. In reality the sunlight that streamed through the little window was the very weak, watery stuff typical of a chilly winter's day.

"Good morning," she replied automatically, her good manners kicking in already.

"How are you feeling?"

She was barely aware of the words being spoken, or the lovely mug of hot tea being pressed into her hands. She was only aware of the man who was standing over her narrow bed, a restrained smile on his face.

"Er…"

"I take it you _are_ Kory Anders?"

"I… oh, yes, I am." It was strange hearing her real name being spoken. Everyone back home had known her by her nickname of Starfire. "And you are?"

He smiled. "Richard Grayson."

"Oh," a small frown pervaded her features. She could have sworn it was something different, though she wasn't sure why.

"Your mother wrote to say you were coming on the coach last night, and when the weather got so bad and you didn't turn up, I went out just in case. We thought you might have stayed at Jump – you know, that village down the way you came – but I guess it was a good job I went out after all, or you might have been wandering all night – or worse, got stuck in a bog, and then you'd have never got out."

She had no clue what he was saying. Only that her head was impossibly painful, and that she was having trouble breathing. Her throat felt constricted. Well, she supposed, one can't go gallivanting around in a storm at night and not expect to develop a little something, even if it's just a cold. She was grateful for the hardy complexion inherited from her parents.

It was then that the source of the delectable smell appeared, in the form of an elderly man carrying a tray of bread, butter, cooked cheese and bacon.

"Master Dick, Miss Kory," he nodded, and though he wore no expression, Starfire immediately liked his face and decided they would get along.

"Thanks Alfred," said Richard as the old man placed the tray on the small table next to Starfire's head.

"Master Dick, perhaps it would be a good idea to fetch Miss Kory some warm water, if she would like to clean up and then join us downstairs."

"We're not _made_ of warm water, Alfred," said a voice from the doorway, and in stepped yet another man. He was very tall, more muscular than Richard, with dark hair and eyes, and looked about thirty-five. He was smiling slightly, but his voice and manner told Starfire he was no-nonsense. She was instantly in awe of him.

"I don't know if you noticed Bruce, but it did rain last night. A lot. We're not too short of water," Richard raised his sculpted eyebrow.

"I suppose we better let the girl pretty herself up then. But then," he addressed Starfire now, "you're going to have to tell us what happened last night."

Starfire sunk into her pillows and shut her eyes, for once not caring if it was rude. She had had the worst night of her life and was now expected to retell all of it to these three men, two of whom were not only very handsome but actually standing in her bedroom (what she wouldn't give to see Blackfire's face at that). Over all, she was feeling quite in over her head.

But she wouldn't let it get the better of her. She wouldn't let them think she was weak. She opened her eyes and smiled as brightly as possible. "Thank you very much."

Bruce nodded then promptly left, followed by Alfred. Richard lingered. "Look, er, I'll get you that water now. But don't mind Bruce, you can take all the time to recover you need." He smiled and walked out the room.

Starfire gazed at the wooden beams in the ceiling for a moment, contemplating. What he had said was sweet, but it wasn't true. She was here to work – to help in the bar and to otherwise act as housemaid. They seemed kind, but they wouldn't tolerate her dilly-dallying about for so long, whatever her ordeal. By tonight, she would have to have pulled herself together and be ready to get to work serving drinks.

This was not something she was looking forward to.

Throwing back the covers reluctantly, she was greeted with a chill draught that wafted in through the window between the patchwork curtains. Otherwise, it was a perfectly pleasant room – minimally furnished, but luxurious to one who had spent her life sharing a bed with two siblings in a cramped attic. There seemed to be so much _space_, between the little iron bedstead, the threadbare rug on the floor, and the rickety cupboard that appeared to have once been grand but was now on its last legs. It was spotlessly clean but not as cosy or colourful as she would have liked. She supposed that in a house full of men, one couldn't expect them to know how to prepare a room for a girl. Not that she was ungrateful – far from it.

She looked down at herself, and was ashamed. Her beautiful clothes – beautiful, at least, for one who was little more than a peasant girl – were splashed with mud from her head to her toes. She supposed they were salvageable – the tears in her skirt probably wouldn't show too badly if she stitched them up carefully, and it was a good job she wasn't as proud as to mind wearing a white blouse that wasn't _quite _white anymore. Still, she had loved these clothes for their simple prettiness. She recalled taking in the pink corset that had belonged to and been outgrown by her plump cousin, and she remembered embroidering the tiny flowers onto the hem of the skirt for a painstaking five hours. They had been her church clothes – now they were her only clothes.

Richard obviously had the same thought as he re-entered, holding a large wooden tub that looked heavy and sloshed with the sound of water. After placing it on the floor he scratched the back of neck and said, "I take it you don't have any other clothes." She was grateful to him for not asking why, yet. "There's not really anywhere to get girls' clothes round here except Jump, and it'll take all hours to get there in this weather." Starfire glanced out the window, and saw that despite the small sunlight, across the road from her window the trees' empty, claw-like branches were being lashed by fierce winds. "I'll go and get you some stuff but can you wear those for today?"

Starfire was very touched and it showed in her shy smile and rosy cheeks. "I greatly appreciate your offer, but you need not trouble yourself. I can wash these easily and … if you have any spare material … I can make my own clothes."

He shuffled his feet a bit and grinned in return. "It's no trouble. I need to go pick up some stuff anyway."

She gave him a sweet smile, and moved towards the tub of water in a subtle hint. He took it, blushed, and exited.

Her mind still rather tired yet excited by the speed with which things were happening, Starfire stripped off, bathed herself, gave her hair a quick rinse and tried to scrub the worst of the mud off of her skirt, to little avail. Her boots she saw had been removed before she was put to bed last night (she blushed at the thought) and polished to shine, and were standing by her bed awaiting her. She slipped her feet in, laced them up, gave her hair one last wring out over the tub of now dirty water and nervously went to meet her new employers formally.

Out in the corridor, she was able to get a feel as to the size of the place – and it was big. Bigger even than the pub back in the village at home, which was the largest building she had ever seen in her life. Until now. Starfire had no reason not to suppose that all the buildings outside of her little village of Tamaran were not mansions compared to the dinky cottages she knew.

"You want to put her in the way of a good marriage, Mrs Anders, like you keep going on about, there'll be no better opportunity," Starfire's neighbour Mr Sklechh had commented, only a few hours after her parents had decided she should go, and the village already teeming with the gossip. "There's queer folk up north, queer as you like, but rich too. What's-his-name, Lord Oscar Queen or some such idiotic title, he's situated up in them parts if I recall…"

"No, you imbecile," his wife had interrupted, "It's Oliver Queen. He's no lord… a squire or something."

"But a squire who might have a fine son, and any lad 'twixt ten and forty would be proud to call our Star his wife," Mr Sklechh had beamed. Starfire, who had been standing beside her mother during this exchange over the picket fence, and feeling terribly embarrassed, only blushed and bowed her head, hoping to hide her burning cheeks beneath her flimsy straw hat and veil of hair.

"We don't entertain such grand ambitions for our Starfire," her mother laid her hand on Starfire's arm. "We want her to find herself a good man that loves her, and she loves in return. But she's going up there to work, and getting married comes later."

Starfire had smiled gratefully.

"A good man that loves her?" scoffed Mrs Sklechh, "What you need to leave Tamaran for to find one of them?" She turned to Starfire, "Now dear, you know our son's been sweet on you since you were tiny together. He's a good, strong lad, he'd give you a fine home and not beat you, and I promise you that."

The smile Starfire had dragged up was one of her weakest yet, and she was famed for her cheery disposition. Inwardly she could only shudder at the thought of the Sklechh's hideously obese son of twenty, who had fawned over her since she was thirteen. Strong he may be, and essentially harmless, but she could have a more rewarding conversation with a bucket of slops. And would much rather kiss one than his blubbery, acne-ridden, occasionally _green_ tinted cheek.

Her mother had saved her from further horror by excusing both of them and claiming they were late for tea, which they were not.

It was true that she could have had her pick of the young men in Tamaran – but these were few and far between (as far as you can be in a village of about six acres) and she cared for none of them.

She had wanted to see places, meet interesting, worldly people. Live.

And now it seemed she was doing just that, she was petrified.

She reflected on this as she descended the wide wooden staircase. To be fair, one of these interesting people had been a highwayman who had taken all of her possessions. She blushed at the idea of him searching through her undergarments. It was understandable that she should be afraid of this land that was to her foreign – she had never been more than seven miles from Tamaran, had never known any scenery other than the gently rolling hills and chalky cliffs and the sea that could be gently or merciless but was always beautiful.

She paused at the bottom of the stairs, staring out of the window opposite her. A bleak, endless view of purplish-grey ground with nothing but the odd tree – now long dead – or craggy rock protruding. The only grass was yellow and looked poisonous or shrivelled. She had grown up with the sound of the sea, constant and reassuring. Now that it was gone, the air seemed empty.

"Miss Anders?" said a quiet voice from her right, and she turned sharply, her cheeks colouring. It was Richard, his head poking out from behind a door. "Please join us."

She obeyed, and found herself in a room that matched the rest of the house perfectly. Clean, fresh, but dimly lit, cold and sparsely furnished. Alfred was pouring tea. Bruce – Mr Wayne, as she supposed he was to her – was seated on a tall wing-backed chair that must have once been very splendid, but which's colour had faded. He gestured for her to sit too, and she quickly did, on a small stool beside the vacant hearth. She had learnt that in the presence of men, or ladies who were older or of higher status, one should position oneself lower, to demonstrate one's submission. She remembered her mother scoffing at this; her sister had downright refused to do it. She had always privately agreed. But neither of them had ever actually been in the presence of a dignified person who was likely to care. Now that she was, Starfire was eager to make a decent show of herself.

Alfred handed her a cup and saucer of tea, which she accepted with a smile and quiet thanks. Everything was very silent and she felt she should not disturb it.

Richard didn't sit, but stood beside the door, partially in shadow.

There was a long pause, during which Starfire sipped her tea and the men (excluding Alfred, who had disappeared) sipped on port. Starfire realised it must be well into the afternoon if they were already drinking – she must have slept for hours. Finally, putting an end to this torture, Mr Wayne spoke up.

"Miss Anders, I understand you must have met with some trouble on your way here, otherwise my ward over there would not have come across you stumbling blindly along the road, half-delirious, with nothing to your name."

Starfire was startled by his brazenness, and for a few seconds could do nothing but blink stupidly. He didn't seem to take heed and just waited.

"Yes, I… the coach, it was… held up by a man." She couldn't bring herself to say highwayman in front of these men. The word seemed vulgar.

It occurred to her that for the tiniest of moments, Mr Wayne's eyes flashed over her head to Richard behind her. "A highwayman," he said.

"Yes," she shut her eyes, feeling terribly guilty, though for what she wasn't sure.

"And tell me – was he dressed all in black, with a mask that had a red 'x' shape on it?"

Starfire stared at him in what she later realised was an un-ladylike manner. But that was hardly important under the circumstances. "Why – yes! He did! Do you know him, sir?"

"He has been quite well-known about these parts, as of late," murmured Mr Wayne.

Starfire stared into her tea, not knowing what to say. A cold breeze rustled the curtain and made her skin bristle.

"Alfred needs to light a fire," said Bruce absently. And to Starfire's astonishment, the old man materialised out of the darkness and promptly did so. How he had heard Mr Wayne she had no idea, and only hoped he would not be disappointed when she didn't turn out to be so efficient. She twisted her upper body towards the welcomed source of heat.

"Miss Anders, Mr Grayson here will purchase some new clothes for you – in fact, Richard, why don't you take the girl in with you to Jump tomorrow morning? That way she can pick out her own clothes, they'll fit her, and you can show her some of the place she's come to live in."

Starfire opened her mouth hastily, "Please, that will not be necessary. I would hate for you to go to any trouble." She turned and looked at Richard in the corner, and her face felt hot for some reason as she spoke. "Besides, I wish to get to work as soon as possible. I do not like intruding on your hospitality without earning my keep."

"Nonsense," said Mr Wayne. It was a very kind gesture, but his voice was devoid of emotion. He was a very strange man indeed – were all rich people this way? But Starfire owed a lot to him and decided she would begin to repay her debt to his kindness by giving him the benefit of the doubt and presuming he was a good man.

"I wouldn't expect you to work in the bar tonight in those clothes. And as for cooking and cleaning, you are far too tired for these things. No – tonight you are our guest, tomorrow Mr Grayson will be _your _servant, and then on Friday you may begin your duties properly."

"Thank you sir." She was impossibly flattered that he would treat a poor girl such as herself so well.

"I will be departing for London shortly, so I will probably not see you again for some time. But I will be writing to Mr Grayson and enquiring as to how you're acclimatising. Galfore said you were a strong young girl – this is certainly good news. You'll need to be to survive a winter out here."

… … …

WHEW! That was long. But dang it, I love writing this! It makes me feel like a proper romantic author… (squeals like the schoolgirl I am) Didn't have much action in it or anything, but the next one will contain fluff as well as some more characters.

Sexylilsis –I love hearing that I make it onto people's favourites!

BZ – I hope you do love it and that I don't let you down :)

D-I-WaRrIa – thanks! I sometimes think I put in too much description.. but I loves me some description! I'm glad you like it too

Cozyintherocket – lol you have such a cool name… and thanks for your wonderful review! It made me feel so good I had to write this chapter post haste so you won't have to die of impatience ;)

Rock'n'rollbitch – thank you! The moors of Devon are so beautiful and haunting. I hope I do them justice. And I hope what I 'cook up next' finds as much favour with you! (proceeds to cook)


	3. Jump

**3**

Mr Wayne left that evening; Starfire did not envy his struggle through the windstorm towards his carriage. However, she did envy him the dignity he carried even bent double against the weather. He would command respect wherever he went. She had always been considered a child. Perhaps her new position at Gotham Inn would enable her to finally grow up, she reflected as she stood in the doorway watching her new master drive away, one hand holding down her skirt against the wind and the other holding her hair.

This was her first glimpse of the front of Gotham Inn, having arrived last night fast asleep. She was looking in on a cobbled courtyard, which stood between the grand oak front door and the road. The yard was surrounded on two sides by the inn – the part she stood in being the house, and the side to her left being the bar and guest rooms. To her right were the stables and coach house.

After Mr Wayne was safely into his brougham, Richard leant in front of Starfire and closed the door. He turned to look at her, and his blue eyes seemed to burn through her clothes and her very skin, and see right through her. She fidgeted and his gaze dropped.

"Shall I show you around?" he shrugged. She followed him in compliant silence as he led the way about a labyrinth of dark corridors, his lantern not doing much to comfort her. The bright windows of her neighbours' cottages, and her own crackling fireplace back home were sorely missed.

He showed her the bar – it was the only room that had been kept in repair worthy enough for its decor. It was as clean as the rest of the place, but unlike the other rooms, handsome paintings of landscapes and hunts adorned the walls, and the furniture was free of cracks or rips.

"You've probably noticed that the rest of the inn isn't so friendly," apologised Richard – for she still could not call him Mr Grayson in her head. He made her feel as though he were a good friend, even if she were only the servant girl of his rich guardian. "You see, it's only me and Alfred here now. Bruce spends most of his time on business in London. I was raised there by Bruce, but when I turned sixteen he let me take over this place. Alfred cleans like a madman, but I can never be bothered to replace furniture in the rooms that the guests don't see," he offered by way of explanation.

Starfire nodded politely. She wondered how difficult a transition that had been, coming from London, which she imagined was a very lively place, out to these lonely moors. She wondered what had happened to his parents. She wondered why he didn't want to make this place feel like a home. And she longed to ask all these questions, for by nature she was inquisitive and interested in other people – but she doubted it would be appropriate. And she hated that propriety had to govern her actions so strongly.

After a tour of the house which left Starfire reeling from the _magnitude_ of it, they ended up once again in the hall in front of the staircase.

"It is… um… a very beautiful house," she offered, hoping she sounded somewhere between impressed and respectful.

"Thanks," he said indifferently.

She was his servant; he was supposed to treat her indifferently. But for some reason, it still hurt.

… … …

At dawn the next morning Starfire gazed dejectedly at her soiled outfit. She was going into Jump today, with _Richard_. And she would look like more of a peasant than even she was. He was obviously a very kind and gentlemanly boy, but he was well-bred nonetheless and would turn up his nose at the prospect of riding into town with such an unbecoming vagabond beside him. The boys at home might not have minded her being muddy, for they were all the time themselves from working in the farms. But she knew Richard would look impeccable.

She decided she would have to do something creative with her undergarments, with the knowledge that she would be getting new ones today. It wasn't as if anyone was going to see them, anyway. She lifted up her pair of frilly white drawers (but not too frilly, for only rich ladies wear lace where it is never even seen) and began to rip them into shreds.

It was fortunate Starfire had such steady hands; otherwise the strips of cloth would have turned out ragged and made her look sorrier than she already did. But as it was, the ribbons she produced were almost as perfect as though they had been cut by a dressmaker.

As Starfire reached up behind her head, threading the trimmings through her hair with deft, experienced fingers, memories were stirred of the May day and Midsummer's festivals back at home, where she and the other girls would put on their white dresses and garnish themselves with white or red ribbon. Then they would climb to the top of a hill and dance, first with each other, and then when the men joined them they would all squabble good-naturedly for partners – not that Starfire or Blackfire had ever been in want of one.

The only other thing she had to make use of was her petticoat, and it was such an unflattering shade of grey she was loathe to wear it where it could be seen; but she had little choice. Slashing it into small sections, she improvised her heart out. She had always loved those evenings at home, where she, her mother, her sister and some other women and girls from the neighbourhood would collect around someone's dinner table, armed with flowers and scraps of fabric and ribbon and string, and they would sew well into the night. By the end of these sessions, their tatty old straw hats would be almost invisible beneath a mound of embellishment.

Starfire had no hat – it had been stolen in her bag last night - but her once-white blouse needed to be hidden, so she went to work twisting the squares of grey material into rosettes that they might pass as peculiar flowers and tucking them into the top of her corset and into her bosom.

Once fully dressed, Starfire ran her fingers mournfully up the streak of brown that had refused to be washed from her skirt, eyed her scuffed boots, and concluded that her grey rosettes looked perhaps more ridiculous than the dirty blouse they concealed. But it would have to do. Hopefully her long auburn hair and pretty face would draw attention away from her questionable attire.

Aware that she had taken some time and Richard might already be waiting for her, Starfire hurried out onto the landing (which creaked ominously), but slowed to a dignified walk before she reached the top of the stairs.

Richard was indeed waiting for her, looking incredibly handsome. He was possibly the best-dressed young man she had ever seen, a far cry from the bare-footed shirtless boys back home.

His breeches were dark brown, and showed off his long, muscular legs until they disappeared into black boots. On his upper half he wore a white silk shirt, and a dark red waistcoat from which peeped a white cravat. Over it all was a black coat, the skirt coming to his thigh.

Starfire's cheeks turned a violent shade of red as she descended towards him, her legs feeling weak and wobbly. She could feel his eyes on her, but as she refused to look him in the face she had no idea what he was thinking. Probably something along the lines of _What have I gotten myself into now?_

Outside, the two of them were greeted by less-than-welcoming elements once again. Starfire's skirt was whisked up in a flurry and for a moment she panicked that Richard would spot her ravaged drawers – but fortunately he had turned towards the coach house.

"Come on!" he called behind him, grabbed her arm and, placing himself between the force of the wind and herself, managed to manoeuvre the both of them inside.

Starfire patted down her hair anxiously as he pushed the door shut with bodily force. She had never seen the inside of such a grand coach house before, and she had certainly never seen horses the likes of these. Strikingly intelligent faces peered out over the tops of their stall doors at her, eyes bright and ears pricked with curiosity.

Richard was currently bringing one out of its stable – a small pony whose mahogany coat was polished to the extreme. Starfire watched quietly while Richard slid on his bridle and backed him up into a charming little gig.

Black clouds were gathering overhead. The tors and rocky peaks cast long shadows across the ground, while some way off the ground slid down and disappeared into a dark valley. The sheer expanse and wilderness of the land made Starfire shiver in her boots as Richard helped her step up into her seat. She tightened her cloak around her with one frozen stiff hand and fought to tame her billowing skirt down with the other. He climbed up beside her and clucked the pony on.

They proceeded at a steady walk. Any faster and the windburn would have turn them both scarlet. Starfire was uncertain of what was correct propriety in this situation – but as Richard didn't seem to give it much thought himself – riding out to town in a gig with a servant girl, for one thing – she threw caution to the wild wind. Her hand fastened onto his sleeve, for she was afraid she might be tossed from the gig altogether. Although she was strong, as country girls ought to be, she and her sister both had always remained strangely light and fragile in appearance. It surely was no disadvantage when it came to attracting men, but was when it came to savage weather. She bowed her head against the cold drizzle that had begun to drop from the grey skies, and hoped her hair, though concealed by the hood of her cloak, wouldn't be disarrayed too badly.

They proceeded for two more hours, and Starfire gradually became aware of Richard's hands beside her. They rested casually on his knees, handling the reins with ease, barely flinching against the wet and cold. They looked strong, the fingers long and lean. They were not as smooth and perfect as she had heard gentlemen's hands to be, this boy had clearly made good use of his strong hands. But they were not dirty and cracked like the boys in Tamaran, hardened by toil on the farms. They were warm, clean and sensible hands, and attracted her.

"What are you looking at?" he gave her a good-natured elbow in the side, and she turned away, instantly mortified.

"I happened to notice your hands," she replied, her voice small and ashamed. How she envied him his easiness. It was all very fine for a well-to-do young man to be kind to, even to flirt with a poor girl like herself. It was a different kettle of fish entirely on the subject of her behaviour towards him. _Young men take advantage_her mother had always warned her. Blackfire had been cruder about it and her stories about what men would do had terrified Starfire when she was small. Richard Grayson seemed like such a nice boy, but however innocent his intentions, if she were forward there would still be talk. Starfire's reputation was already at risk for having gone to stay in a household of men to begin with.

"You notice a man's hands, do you? So you're a woman after all. I didn't know what to expect of a village girl, not really ever having met one, you see. I thought you might be some half-fledged farm boy before I met you, to be honest." There was no unkindness in his tone, in fact he sounded rather embarrassed. Starfire didn't know what to make of it so she just nodded meekly. She was strangely pleased that he acknowledged her existence as a woman, but she supposed that was evidence of her sillier girlish side and would be better ignored.

By the time they arrived in the small town of Jump, the rain and wind had thankfully decreased. However it was still chilly, and Starfire followed closely behind Richard for warmth as well as her misgivings about this frightening new town.

It was wonderfully exciting. She had never seen a market town that wasn't a farmer's market, bustling with animals and country folk. These were country folk too, strictly speaking, but they were of moor land, not farmland. They may as well be foreigners. There was a butcher's, she noticed, and a baker's, these she was familiar with. But there was also a bookshop and a toyshop and all manner of things she had only imagined before. She would have been content to deviate at whim through the streets, gazing in through windows and drinking in the strange-ness of it all, but Richard apparently had a purpose.

There were very few people about, maybe due to the weather, but those they passed all touched their hats or curtsied to Richard and stared without subtlety at Starfire, all of them through dark, guarded eyes. She might have been tempted to grip the tails of Richard's coat for security, but it would have only drawn more attention to her.

It was to her rising giddiness that she discovered their destination was a dressmaker's – the first she had ever come across. They went in with the jingle of a bell, and were immediately greeted by a large, round woman with spectacles and an apron.

"Well I'll be a goose's walking-stick!" she declared in a jolly sort of way, "Master Grayson! I haven't seen you down here for an age!"

"Unfortunately I don't have much call for dresses, Miss Mae. Please don't take it personally." His charm was so magnetic it took the woman a few moments to notice Starfire peeping out from behind him.

"Oh, and who's this?" she cried, seizing upon the poor girl with gusto. Taking Starfire's hands she pulled her out into the middle of the shop floor and, with a flourish, spun her around so as to get a look at her. Starfire, now dizzy as a maypole, stumbled and clutched the nearest clothes rack. It turned out it was not a clothes rack, but Richard's arm. He didn't seem to mind and carried on talking to Miss Mae.

"She's our new barmaid down at Gotham, Miss Mae. Kory Anders. We need some clothes for her."

"Oh, lovely, lovely!" Miss Mae sang, holding Starfire's face by the cheeks and admiring her face short-sightedly. "Such a pretty thing. Reminds me of me when I was a lass. She'll break a few hearts, just like I did all those years ago."

"Right," said Richard, leaning against the counter and looking amused. "Well, she needs some work stuff, night stuff, Sunday stuff… oh, and a riding habit too, if you would be so kind."

Starfire was astonished by his brazenness – back in Tamaran, it would have been thought ill for a man to speak of a woman's clothes that way, let alone her _'night stuff'_! Moor folk were so bizarrely brash and not remotely delicate. She was so surprised, she almost missed the fact that he said –

"Riding habit?" she squeaked.

It was his turn to look surprised, though he carried it off with more dignity than she probably did. "Yeah. We'll have to get you a horse while we're down here… you can't go walking about the moors by yourself!" he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Then with a cutely furrowed brow, "Don't all country girls know how to ride?"

Starfire wasn't about to lie to him. Although growing up amongst farmers, as a little girl she had been tossed onto the back of many enormous cart-horses, who were as gentle and slow as the moon. However, she had never really _ridden_ on the kind of horse he would consider proper, and certainly not side-saddle!

"I…" she began, but never finished.

"Of course, of course!" Miss Mae clasped her hands in delight. "Now you be on your way, Master Grayson! And when you come back she'll be so elegant you'll have to get in line to talk to her!"

He looked like he was going to say something, but didn't get the chance as he was promptly ushered out by the now business-like Miss Mae.

To Starfire the measuring and fitting and choosing and cutting of fabrics passed like a dreamy blur. She was getting an entire new wardrobe, and it looked to be twice the size of her previous one. And it was all paid for by her new employers.

Part of her was guilty. She had been raised to be modest and sensible with money. And while technically she wasn't spending any, she definitely wasn't earning any to send home by standing here getting dressed up like a lady.

When Miss Mae first whisked off her current skirt and blouse, to be met with the slashed and torn underwear, Starfire had felt like crawling into a corner and dying of humiliation. Thankfully the old woman had simply paused, then patted her on the arm and said cheerfully, "Looks like you need some new underwear too!"

After three hours, during which Miss Mae worked at the speed of light and Starfire had only to stand there nodding dumbly whenever she was asked a question she didn't understand, Starfire had six new dresses, two handsome straw hats, two nightgowns and several sets of corsetry, drawers, laces and other unmentionables. Numerous pairs of boots had also been produced from nowhere.

The four work dresses were simple in design and, although made with more skill and of better material than anything Starfire had ever owned, they were not things she would be embarrassed to wear. Her Sunday dress was a slightly different matter. It was more beautiful than anything she had ever seen, even though it wasn't particularly dramatic. The bodice and skirt were pale lavender – her favourite – and it was sprigged with trims and buttons of a golden-mustard colour. With it came a pair of lovely dove-grey gloves.

Her riding habit had been the cause of some concern. According to Miss Mae, the traditional colour was black, but she claimed black would simply not do with Starfire's complexion. She had fretted over shades of hunter green and navy blue, but eventually settled, to Starfire's relief, on a wonderful velvet of dark, rich violet. The habit, though floor-length, was extremely tight in the upper-body, showing off her figure to the extreme before flaring out at the waist. If Starfire hadn't been so bedazzled by the beauty of the thing, she might have noticed that dressed in it, _she_ was more beautiful than the dress itself. Obviously she didn't.

Miss Mae began to sob quietly with pride. Starfire eventually took off the habit and slipped into one of her new, but more humble, work dresses. Just as she emerged from the fitting room, Richard entered.

The light, erratic rainfall outside had been enough to plaster his black hair to his head, and his large grin at seeing her, combined with the shine of his eyes from underneath his wet fringe, was enough to turn her cheeks red and make her shuffle her feet.

The price of her new clothes, as quoted by Miss Mae at the till, was vulgar to Starfire's ears. These dresses were worth more than her family's home, and half a dozen of their neighbours' homes too.

Richard picked up on her melancholy as they exited the shop, after thanks and goodbyes. "What's the matter? Didn't you like them?"

"Oh," Starfire went red once again. She was getting tired of doing that. "No, they are the most amazing dresses I have ever laid eyes upon!" she said truthfully, and he smiled. "But… you did not have to do this for me."

"I did. You had all your stuff stolen," he reminded her.

"I am eternally in your debt, Sir," she said earnestly.

"Don't call me that," he looked slightly disgruntled. "Call me Richard, please."

She was pleased, but embarrassed and confused again. She had no clue about this man; he was an enigma.

"Let's go see Beast Boy, then," he changed the subject light-heartedly.

"Beast Boy?" she repeated hesitantly. "Is this… some kind of a show?" At home she had heard of people talking of fairs and freak shows, and the type of people they exhibited. It had made Starfire sick to know of such things.

He laughed. "No. Beast Boy is Gar Logan. He's a real nice kid, but completely obsessed with animals. We're going to buy you a horse from him."

"I do not need a horse," she said quickly. "You have been too kind already."

He silenced her. "You can be as polite as you want, Kory Anders, but I'm going to get you that horse. Nothing's too good for a resident of Gotham Inn."

… … …

Haha, I put Robin in breeches! SUCKA. Anyway sorry for the long gap between updates, this chapter took ages to write :) Loads more stuff was gonna happen this time round, but I didn't realise it would take so many pages just for this. Next time: the other Titans (and some other characters) are introduced!


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